Herobrine's War

by Mark Cheverton

  “Erebus, what have you to report?” Herobrine asked.

  “My Endermen are bringing the monsters here, just as you commanded,” the shadowy monster said.

  “What did you say?” the Maker asked, his eyes blazing, dangerously intense.

  Reaching into his inventory, the evil shadow-crafter slowly pulled out his iron sword.

  “Ahhh … I mean … I mean, your Endermen are bringing the monsters here,” Erebus stammered.

  “That’s what I thought,” Herobrine replied as he slid his sword back into his inventory.

  A group of lanky Endermen appeared nearby, each holding a pair of monsters in their long, clammy arms. After depositing the creatures on the rough-hewn floor, the dark beings teleported to the stream of water that fell from the ceiling of the cavern. The Endermen stood under the falling water, a look of bliss in their white eyes as their HP rejuvenated.

  When Herobrine made the dark creatures, he’d poured every bit of hate and loathing he had for the villagers into them, but the Maker also gave them his overwhelming vanity and arrogance. The vanity made the creatures always want to clean themselves, and in cleansing their skin, they would replace any lost HP. The arrogance from Herobrine made the Endermen so confident in battle that they assumed no villager would ever dare hit them. As a result, they could not join the battle unless they were first attacked or challenged with a direct stare. Somehow, the villagers had learned of this, making the Endermen almost useless at the start of wars, but keeping them around still had its advantages. For example, they were very effective at transporting troops from place to place.

  “Soon, my Maker, we’ll have transported all of the scattered monsters across the Overworld to your zombie-towns,” Erebus continued, his screechy voice echoing off the cold stone walls. “By nightfall, we’ll have a vast army of angry creatures ready to serve their Maker.”

  “Excellent. Soon we’ll be ready to move against that pathetic blacksmith and his cowardly followers,” Herobrine sneered.

  “Maker, I don’t mean to question your plan, but I don’t see any spiders here,” Erebus said cautiously.

  A cloud of purple teleportation particles began to dance about his skin, ready to carry the dark monster away in case his question infuriated Herobrine. The Enderman had quickly realized that most questions did.

  “Relax, Erebus,” the dark virus replied. “The spiders are on another task, but they will join us soon. First, they have a target to eliminate. I have ordered Shaikulud to continue her hunt until she is successful.”

  “What does she pursue?” Erebus asked.

  Herobrine smiled but said nothing, then turned and watched as more Endermen appeared, each with one or two monsters in their grasp. As soon as they deposited their cargo in the cavern, they disappeared, hunting for more zombies and skeletons.

  “What of the survivors from the last battle with Smithy and the villagers?” Erebus asked.

  “They’re gathering at Dragon’s Teeth,” the Maker explained. “There are three to four dozen monsters waiting for us there. When the rest of the army is assembled, and we know where the blacksmith is located, we’ll bring all the monsters together and finally crush our enemy.”

  “But how do you know where the villagers are hiding?”

  “My ghasts seek the blacksmith from high overhead. When they find him, a few of the monsters will attack while one of them flies away and reports to their king, Malacoda.”

  Erebus growled at the sound of the ghast king.

  “I do not trust this Malacoda,” Erebus said. “He’s overly arrogant and boasts of his successes before he has done anything. That ghast cannot be trusted.”

  “My, my, Erebus, are you a little jealous?” Herobrine said with a wry smile.

  “It’s not jealousy,” the Enderman snapped. “I only seek to serve the Maker, but I question if this Malacoda serves Herobrine, or merely himself? At the first sign of trouble, he floats high into the air as do the rest of his ghasts, rather than stay near the ground and fight. They’re all cowards. That overinflated gas-bag cannot be trusted. I could destroy him for you … if you wish.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind,” Herobrine growled, his eyes glowing bright, causing the king of the Endermen to take a step back. “Malacoda is able to control the other ghasts, and that makes him valuable. As long as he follows my orders, the king of the ghasts will not be harmed. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Maker,” Erebus replied in a meek voice.

  “Very good, my Enderman king. For now, we wait as we gather more zombies, skeletons, ghasts, and newly-spawned Endermen. When we know of our enemy’s location, I will loose my forces upon him and watch Smithy writhe in sorrow and despair before he is destroyed. But until that time, we wait and prepare.”

  The Maker looked at his ever-growing army, his eyes glowing a harsh white, then laughed a malicious laugh as he thought of all the ways he was going to torture the blacksmith, before finally destroying him.

  CHAPTER 10

  MEETING IN THE FOREST

  They reached the edge of the savanna just after sunset. Gameknight knew they could have traveled faster, but he felt stealth and caution would serve them better than speed. As a result, they moved in small groups of three, one person guiding while a second watched the terrain around them, and a third monitored the sky. They ran from tree to tree, trying to stay under cover whenever possible, hoping to avoid detection from above.

  Wilbur acted as their monster detector; his sensitive nose seemed to pick up the scent of monsters when they were far away, as he recently had with the spiders. So Gameknight stayed on one side of the little pink animal, with Weaver on the other as they ran from tree to tree. For now, the tiny pig detected nothing, but the User-that-is-not-a-user was certain that would not last long.

  When they reached the oak forest that bordered the savanna, the warriors all breathed a sigh of relief. Now, instead of having to run across large stretches of open land to get to the next tree, they would be able to stay under the leafy canopy, which was much safer.

  They moved quickly through the forest in that manner, sometimes sprinting, while other times walking to catch their breath. At first, Gameknight thought he’d have to slow down so the Oracle could keep up, but the old woman never seemed to get winded. She always stayed at Gameknight’s side, the tall form of Treebrin and the squat Grassbrin next to her, the other light-crafters trailing behind.

  “We need scouts out on our flanks,” Gameknight said quietly. “We can’t shout out to find Carver and the other villagers. It might attract some unwanted attention. Instead, we need to use our ears.”

  “I’ll go to the left,” one villager said.

  “I’m on the right,” another added.

  The two NPCs moved off, their armor clanking ever so slightly. Gameknight watched as they disappeared into the darkness, then turned and continued northward.

  “I’m going up ahead,” Weaver said. “I’ll be quiet and no one will know I’m there.”

  The young boy took off his iron armor and put on some black leather armor he had in his inventory. Against the background of the dark forest, he was so hard to see that he nearly disappeared.

  “I’ll come back if I see anything.”

  “Just be careful,” Gameknight insisted.

  If anything happens to him, it could change everything, he thought.

  “Don’t worry. That’s a resourceful young man,” the Oracle said at his side. “He’ll be fine.”

  The User-that-is-not-a-user tried to smile, but all he could manage was a strained grimace.

  They continued forward, eyes searching the skies as their ears scanned the forest. Just then, they heard a muffled, baby-like cry. Everyone stopped.

  “Did you hear that?” Gameknight whispered.

  Some of the NPCs nodded their boxy heads, scared looks on their faces. He glanced at the Oracle.

  “Do you think that was a ghast?” the User-that-is-not-a-user asked.

 
; “I can’t be sure,” the old woman replied.

  She glanced at her light-crafters. Treebrin and Cactusbrin ran forward, followed by Grassbrin. Dirtbrin and the gray-skinned Stonebrin stayed at her side.

  “They will offer us some defenses if needed,” the Oracle said. “But I think we need to continue on.”

  “Agreed,” Gameknight confirmed.

  He drew his bow and notched an arrow, then began to walk again. Weaving around stout oak trees, Gameknight glanced through the tree branches, searching for anything floating in the sky.

  Another soft, baby-like cry floated to them from ahead and to the right.

  That could have been a ghast, the User-that-is-not-a-user thought. Sometimes they sound like a cat and other times like a baby. I need to figure out some kind of defense if they decide to attack.

  Focusing on his surroundings, Gameknight tried to come up with a battle plan … but he had nothing. The stress of continually having to come up with one strategy after another was wearing on him; the responsibility for everyone’s safety felt overwhelming at times.

  Without any real idea coming to him, Gameknight continued forward, his eyes cast upward, peering through the leaves. Another cry floated through the forest, muffled, as if the source were trying to hide their location. Gripping his bow firmly, he moved directly toward the sound. He’d rather face a threat directly before him than let it sneak up behind him. Running faster, he dashed up the gentle hills that dotted the landscape, hoping to get a clear view of what lay ahead.

  The cry called out again. Gameknight couldn’t be sure, but he thought it came from the other side of the next hill.

  “Come on,” the User-that-is-not-a-user growled. “Now we sprint!”

  He charged forward with an arrow drawn back, ready to fire. The sound of twenty villagers, all in iron armor, clanked through the forest as they ran. When they reached the top of the rise and descended downward, the group skidded to a stop. Standing before them was a worn and haggard group of villagers led by Carver. Weaver stood next to the stocky NPC with a baby villager in his young arms.

  “Carver!” Gameknight exclaimed. He ran forward and embraced his friend. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

  “We’re certainly glad to see you,” Carver replied. “We found Weaver here, and he was leading us back to you.”

  Gameknight pointed to the infant NPC, then gave Carver a questioning glance.

  “She was just born a few hours ago,” the proud father explained as he stepped forward. “She’s a milker. I’m sure one day she will be the best cow milker in the village.”

  “Ahh … Milky,” Gameknight said with a smile.

  “That’s a great name,” Carver said. “We’ll call her Milky.”

  The stocky villager turned and glanced at Weaver, who was looking down at the child in his arms and making goofy faces, trying to keep her from crying again.

  Suddenly, footsteps could be heard in the forest. Gameknight turned to face the potential threat, an arrow ready to fire. The Oracle moved to Gameknight’s side and carefully pushed his bow to the ground.

  “Friends,” she said to the User-that-is-not-a-user.

  The light-crafters emerged from the darkness with the scouts that had been checking their flanks. The two NPCs visibly relaxed when they saw the other villagers, and patted Treebrin and Grassbrin on the back. But they only waved to Cactusbrin, whose prickly skin was not very welcoming.

  Carver stepped up to his side and spoke in a low voice.

  “Our village … it was destroyed,” the stocky NPC said.

  “I know,” Gameknight replied.

  “How do you …?”

  “It’s difficult to explain,” Gameknight interrupted. “When we are somewhere safe….” He trailed off, then glanced at the faces of the villagers. “Where’s your village’s leader, Farmer?”

  “He didn’t make it,” Carver replied. “Farmer was on the walls when they attacked. He was the first one to be hit by a fireball.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gameknight replied.

  “So who’s in charge now?” Weaver asked as he handed the baby back to the parents.

  “Well,” Carver replied. “I guess …”

  “You are, Carver,” Gameknight snapped in a loud voice. “There is a village south of here in the savanna. We need to get your people there so they can rest.”

  A cry filled the air again.

  “Weaver, can you try to keep that baby quiet again?” Gameknight said. “I’d rather no one knows we’re out here.”

  “It wasn’t Milky,” Weaver said, pointing to the infant.

  The baby was asleep in the father’s arms.

  “Then where did the cry come from?” Carver asked.

  Gameknight glanced at Carver. They both had expressions of fear chiseled in their square faces.

  “Everyone, get under a tree,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said as he glanced skyward.

  Moving under a large oak, the User-that-is-not-a-user peered through the branches. Stars still sparkled down at them, but some disappeared as dark rectangles floated across the sky: clouds.

  Icicles of fear stabbed at him as Gameknight searched the heavens for their enemy. Around him were now maybe fifty villagers that needed protection, and it fell upon Gameknight999 to figure out how to keep them all safe.

  I hate this responsibility, he thought. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, being the sole person they all look to for safety.

  He moved around the trunk of the tree and leaned out from under the foliage to get a better view of the sky. Just then, nine long tentacles descended down from a cloud. A feeling of dread washed over him.

  “Ghasts,” the User-that-is-not-a-user whispered just as a fireball streaked through the air, right at them.

  CHAPTER 11

  FOREST OF FLAMES

  The fireball exploded just overhead.

  Wilbur oinked, just as surprised by the blast as the villagers were.

  “The ghast missed,” Gameknight exclaimed. “Its attack hit the oak tree instead of making it to the ground.”

  “They won’t make that mistake again,” the Oracle said in her scratchy, ancient voice.

  “Everyone move,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said. “If you stand still, the monsters will certainly shoot at you. Everyone run. Head to the south.”

  The villagers ran as fast as they could to the south, trying to keep under the cover of the many trees that covered the landscape. Gameknight moved to the newborn infant’s parents. He stayed near them in case a fireball came toward them, so it could be batted away. Wilbur, too, stayed near Milky, the tiny pig determined to protect her as well. Gameknight knew the baby was the ancestor of one of his friends from the future. Milky was related to Crafter, somehow, and he knew she had to be kept safe, as did all these villagers. But as a relative of his friend, she was especially important to him.

  I’m not gonna let any ghast shoot a fireball at a baby, Gameknight thought, his courage pushing back the fear of responsibility. Not on my watch!

  As they ran, more attacks rained down from overhead. Trees exploded, turning into huge, towering infernos as flames from the top slowly crept across the branches and spread to the neighboring oaks. Gameknight glanced over his shoulder at the forest fire that was now pursuing them. The sky behind them glowed an angry orange as sparks and embers leapt up into the air, only to settle down onto an innocent block of leaves and bring more flames to life. Fortunately, there were places throughout the forest where the trees were spaced apart; the fire would not be able to spread far. But the thinning of the trees caused other problems. The ghasts would now be able to see them easier.

  Gameknight ran as he peered up into the sky, searching for the floating monstrosities. It was hard to flee and look over his shoulder at the same time. He found himself almost colliding into trees or other villagers.

  “I don’t like this,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said to Weaver, who ran next to him. “The ghasts are just gonna continue this line
of attack until they drive us out of the forest.”

  “What do you want to do?” the young boy asked.

  “LOOK OUT!” Gameknight screamed as he shoved Weaver to the side.

  A fireball exploded right where he’d been running. The hem of his smock was slightly singed, and thin tendrils of smoke began to snake up into the air.

  “It’s time we stop retreating and start attacking!” the User-that-is-not-a-user growled.

  He dashed forward and whispered into the Oracle’s ear. The old woman nodded, then motioned for her light-crafters to approach. As they conferred, Gameknight ran to the different groups of warriors and explained his plan. Once one group understood, he went to the next one, and then the next, until they were all ready.

  The light-crafters ran ahead at incredible speeds, disappearing into the forest.

  “Oracle, are we ready?” Gameknight asked.

  “I think so,” she replied.

  “What are you doing?” Carver asked.

  “We’re planning a little surprise for the ghasts,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said. “Just keep your people running south, and don’t stop until you hear me shout.”

  “Got it,” he replied, then took Milky in his big hands to give the father a chance to rest his arms.

  Ahead, Gameknight saw the light-crafters Treebrin, Grassbrin, and Cactusbrin standing near a bunch of saplings. Atop each young tree was a block of dirt. He wasn’t really sure how they did that, and didn’t care, as long as it worked.

  “Get on the blocks,” Gameknight said.

  Another fireball exploded behind them as the angry cat-like cries from the ghasts filled the air.

  The archers all stood on top of a sapling with their bows notched. They turned and faced the approaching monsters, fear painted on every blocky face. Gameknight mounted his plant and waited. Suddenly, Treebrin’s arms began to shine a deep, forest green. When the glow reached his elbows, the lanky light-crafter plunged them into the ground. Instantly, the trees sprouted upward, forming a towering wall of full-grown spruce trees, an archer perched standing precariously on each.